


One moment away

by angelaccountant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 2x08 coda, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelaccountant/pseuds/angelaccountant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of episode 8, Stiles visits a hurt Scott at the vets, where he comes across the rest of Scott’s pack (including a very protective Alpha) mourning over their hurt pack member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One moment away

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes two descriptions of panic attacks, if you are not comfortable with this I would suggest that you close this window, if not, read ahead! :)  
> The most important thing is to stay safe, lovelies!

By the time Stiles had gotten the call from Dr. Deaton he was already halfway to his car, putting his keys in the ignition of his Jeep and driving to the town’s vet in a speed that he was pretty sure would have earned him a week of house arrest or a speeding ticket – probably both, yeah _definitely_ both, and one of those scorching stares, hands on hips and the whole thing - had his father still been Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Though when he thought about it, option number 1 and option number 3 still had an equal chance of happening, no matter if his father found out about his reckless driving, since he was the reason why his father had lost his job as Sheriff in the first place.

He grimaced at the thought.

Shit.

And he hadn’t even gotten to tell his best friend how devastatingly exhausted and disappointed his dad had looked when he told him the news. His best friend who was now seriously hurt. And possibly dying for all he knew, he thought, fighting away tears.

" _Oh god, please be ok, please be ok, please be ok"_   he chanted, letting out a small prayer and pressed on the pedals to his car harder, making the jeep drive faster on the highway.

He reached the vet’s five minutes before expected. Though he wasn’t very surprised by the fact, not with the way he had been driving to get there. As he opened the main door which held a “CLOSED” sign, and made his way through the long hallway, the first thing he noticed was the three people sitting on the floor and resting their backs against the white hallway wall beside a door that led to an examination room.

Erica, Isaac and Boyd looked up as he ran to them, but he stopped in his tracks halfway down the hall when he saw closer the expressions on their faces. They all looked completely and utterly miserable, there were no other words for it. They all had dark shadows under their eyes, pale skin, and their faces were covered in small traces of sweat, but it was the way they held each other’s hands and lent onto each other with all they got that really affected Stiles. Like they had already lost someone and they were clinging onto each other for support.

“Oh no,” he said with a slow intake of breath.

Those looks could only mean one thing.

“He’s gone isn’t he?” He touched his chest and tried to slow down his breathing, which were now starting to come out in shallow gasps.

“Stiles, Stiles!” Someone shouted at him, and when he looked up Deaton was standing in front of him, clenching his shoulders. “Breathe,” he soothed.

Stiles shook his head in desperation. “But _, Scott!_ He, he –”

“Hey, Stiles! Stiles! Look at me, _look at me_.”

He forced himself too look up again, and he was not met with sadness like he thought, rather with a grateful and slightly worried look. “Scott’s not dead,” Deaton said to him.

“Where,” he demanded and ran in the direction Deaton pointed, past the werewolves and into the examination room they guarded. Scott was lying unconscious on an examination table when he entered. In the corner of the room Derek looked up at Stiles, but Stiles paid him no attention, running straight to Scott’s side.

“Oh my _god_ , Scott!” Stiles exclaimed as he looked down at his unconscious friend. Scott’s entire body was drenched with sweat, so much that his pants stuck stickily to his legs, and his hair was plastered flatly to his head, glistening in the sharp light that the room provided. There were shadows under his eyes, and like the werewolves that sat right outside the room, his skin was very pale.

Tears were beginning to form in Stiles eyes, but he blinked them away, telling himself to _be strong dammit_ , then taking Scott’s hand into his own, and gasping at the incredible warmth he felt.

“That’s his body trying to suppress all the wolfsbane he’s inhaled,” came a familiar dark voice from the corner of the room, and he looked up from where he stood, still holding Scott’s hand in his, emotional moment be damned, to see Derek sitting in a chair, not far away from Scott and himself.

Now, Stiles had seen many of Derek Hales expressions. Most of them had been dark, brooding and angry, and he had yet to see the day when Derek actually smiled (and he guesses that day will come when pigs can fly or it rains in the Sahara desert or something equally unbelievable to fit the occasion). When he thought about it, most of those negative expressions had been directed at him several times (not that he has been trying to get them out of Derek on purpose or anything, _noooooo_ what are you talking about). So to put it lightly, Derek had always had a brooding mine, and yes, he had often been the reason to why those brooding mines might have appeared, and he had seen many, _many_ faces belonging to Derek, but never had he seen such a devastatingly distraught expression on Derek Hale as the one he wore right then.

Stiles sucked in a breath, and was about to open his mouth to thank him for saving Scott, but Derek gave him a short nod and a knowing look before Stiles got the chance to speak, telling Stiles in his own way that it was all right.

They looked at each other for a couple more minutes in complete silence, but then Deaton walked in, and Stiles broke Derek’s surprisingly soft gaze to talk to the veterinarian.

“Will he be all right?” He asked, and the rough voice that came out of his mouth when he talked surprised him. He didn’t even want to think about what he would do if the answer he got was no.

The yes he got in return comes like a huge kick to his stomach, and Stiles dragged himself down in the nearest chair, the one beside Derek, and tried to calm his breathing. Deaton looked concerned at him, and Stiles hands clenched around his neck.

“I –“ He gasped out, “ _I can’t breathe_ _–_ “ and could feel the familiar anxiety of a panic attack creeping up on him. He didn't hear much after that, only some footsteps coming closer in his direction, then he heard someone purring. No wait, _growling_? And then someone was holding him close to their chest and a familiar rough voice is was saying “breathe” over and over again in his ear.

So he did.

 

**********

 

“I thought he was going to die,” Stiles said later when he had calmed down and detached himself from Derek, who was surprisingly enough the one who had held him close till the panic attack had subsided.

Derek was watching Stiles in the corner of his eye, as if he was worried that he was going to burst into a panic attack again.

“He won’t, but it was close. If he – If I hadn’t…” Derek trailed off, closing his eyes. “It was close.”

Stiles looked over at Scott again, and moved his chair so that he sat next to his best friend, taking Scott’s overly warm hand into his again.

“Thank you,” Stiles said with his back facing Derek. “I don’t know what I would have done if he…if he –“ His voice cracked and he could feel tears forming in his eyes again, but this time he let them fall. “He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ve got.”

He turned around a bit when he was met with silence, and he could see Derek’s eyes, which were open now, tracking the way Stiles hands were clasped soothingly over Scott's with an unreadable expression. So what, now he had a problem with them touching each other? Jeez, his best friend had almost just _died_ for crying out loud, Derek had said so himself. If there was one time it was allowed to have a full on chick moment with your bro, this was it.

Stiles sighed and looked at Scott again. His face and chest was still flushed with sweat, and some of it ran off his body and to the metallic table under him. “He’s burning up,” he whispered mostly to himself and stood up to look through the shelves in the room for a cloth, and _bingo_! He wet the cloth and used it to wash away some of the sweat on Scott’s face and chest. He still looked pretty horrible, but that would do for now, he thought as he wet the cloth again in a nearby sink and laid it on top of Scott’s forehead. Scott’s condition reminded him of how horrible the werewolves outside had looked. Then he remembered what he was going to ask Derek earlier.

“Hey, what’s up with the trio outside?” Stiles asked curiously. “Why do they look like they’ve gotten run over by death or something?”

There was a moment of pause and then Derek said, “They are…mourning in a way.”

Mourning? What did they have to mourn?

Derek looked into Stiles eyes for a second before continuing explaining. “Scott _is_ pack now. No matter what they have against him, he’s just as much pack as the rest of us. And when a pack member is seriously hurt we sort of give away strength to the hurt pack member.” Derek bit his lip, uncertain how to explain. “As a pack we draw strength from each other, we share it, and that means that we are stronger together, but when a pack member is hurt we mourn to strengthen the wounded. It takes a lot of our strength in the most serious cases like Scott’s here, so you can say that they are taking some of Scott’s pain from him so that he’ll heal faster. That’s why they look so alike how Scott looks right now – they are sharing his pain.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Then why don’t you look like you’ve just battled death?”

“I’m the Alpha. I have to be strong for the rest of my pack,” was the only thing Stiles got in return, and Derek closed his eyes signalizing that they were done talking about that subject.

Stiles knew he was hurting, perhaps not like the rest of the Beta’s in his pack, but he had seen it in the way Derek had looked at Scott lying on that table, like he would do anything to protect him, to make the pain go away. And if that wasn’t hurt, then Stiles didn’t know what was.

As usual, Stiles couldn’t keep his mouth shut even if it was glued together, so he blurted out, “Do you still mourn?”

He didn’t really know himself if the question was directed to how Scott was hurt now or to the death of his family, but Derek apparently did and looked Stiles in the eyes when he said, “Every day.”

Stiles didn’t really know what to do but to give a little awkward nod in Derek’s direction.

They sat in complete silence for a while together in the room. Stiles was looking with a concerned look at Scott when he finally broke the silence.

“You know, I never got to tell him about my father.”

Derek looked up, staring at Stiles back, but said nothing and Stiles took that as a sign to continue.

“He lost his job as Sheriff because of me. Because his hyperactive son just had to go poking around in his work, appearing on crime scenes and having information about cases that he wasn’t supposed to have. They found it _unfit_ to have him as a Sheriff anymore,” Stiles spat out, but he was too exhausted to put any force into it. “He didn’t even want to shout at me or anything, said he was too tired.”

Stiles sighed. “That feeling that your own curiosity has cost your old man his job is one of the worst feelings I have –“ He shook his head. “After my mom died his job as Sheriff and I were the only things that mattered to him, and now he doesn’t even have his job anymore.”

“It’s not your fault, you know,” came a surprising comment from Derek. “If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. I gave Jackson the bite, and it’s because of him and those murders that you have been meddling with your father’s work.” Stiles crooked his neck so that he could see Derek properly where he sat. He couldn’t really believe what he was hearing. Was Derek really apologizing to him? The same _I-am-going-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth_ threatening Derek from a couple of months back? Stiles felt like voicing his thoughts, which were around the lines of _who are you, what have you’ve done to Derek Hale and I wonder if I can pre-order Halo 4 yet._

His stomach turned uncomfortably from Derek's confession. He didn't want Derek to feel like this was all his fault. Derek had enough shit to deal with in his life, he didn't need this as well. Stiles turns his head to look at Derek, who is staring back at him with surprisingly steady eyes. “I don't blame you, Derek. Sometimes we just make mistakes." He saw Derek's face relax slightly at his words, and Stiles turned his eyes back on his best friend. Stiles kept talking. "I think Scott knew something was wrong when I didn’t talk the entire drive over to the club. But I didn’t want to worry him, he already had so much on his plate, with the whole Allison thing, his school problems, being a _freaking_ werewolf, lying to his mom about _being a freaking werewolf_ , and now the whole thing with Jackson being a supernatural-lizard-creature-thingy that goes around killing people,” he finished with a sigh, scratching his head.

"And I get it; complicated has basically been my life since my moth – since I was little. I just wish we could have some more bro-time together you know, without all the werewolf and Allison crap and just be two normal teenagers _and I have no idea why I’m telling you this._ ” He straightened up in the chair, snuffling slightly, trying to dry away his tears. Shit, what was up with all the crying today?

He shook his head, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he really was. Not just because of this night, but because of everything that had happened this past year.

Stiles went up from his chair and moved to where Scott’s jacket laid on one of the chairs and fiddled through the pockets till he found Scott’s phone. He turned it on and when he had to write in the password he didn’t hesitate by writing in ‘ALLISON’, and when the phone approved it Stiles sighed loudly. Of course his password was Allison. He shook his head disapprovingly. Scott should really think of some new passwords because this was just getting ridiculous.  He sent a quick text to Scott’s mom pretending to be Scott where he said that he and Stiles were sleeping over at some friend’s house tonight. Then he opened his own phone and sent a similar text to his father. After that he sat down in his chair again.

Stiles let out a big yawn, gave a still unconscious Scott a worried frown and took off his entirely too huge sweatshirt, folding it into a square and putting it down on the examination table, resting his head on it while sitting in his chair. He yawned again.  “I don’t always wanna be Robin, tho I make a pretty darn awesome one.” he mumbled sleepily to himself. “Sometimes I just wanna be Batman too.”

He could hear Scott’s heavy breathing echo through the silent room, and he let out a small thanks to whomever above for sparing his friend, before giving another small yawn and mumbling a small “G’d night Derek”, and then he was out like a light. A barely audible “Good night, Stiles” could be heard echoing in return through the room, but it was spoken so silently that Stiles wasn’t sure he had imagined it or not.

Stiles woke up the next morning from sharp sunlight shining straight on him.

“Ahhhh!” He moaned and moved his hand to block the sharp light. Where the hell did that come from? He opened his eyes again, this time moving his head to that the light was shining on his back rather straight in his face. He was greeted with an unfamiliar room. _What the hell?_ Then he remembered what had happened yesterday, and looked frantically around the room for Scott, but he was nowhere to be seen. When he stood up an unfamiliar jacket fell from his shoulders to the floor. He looked at it for a moment. He distinctively remembered _not_ putting a black leather jacket over his shoulders yesterday before he fell asleep. Strange.

As he was about to pick up the jacket Scott walked into the room looking as healthy as ever.

“Scott!” he exclaimed and ran over to his best friend, giving him the strongest hug he could manage. “Don’t ever do that to me again you bastard.” He tightened his grip on Scott, and Scott squeezed Stiles shoulder comfortingly in return. “If you do that again I will – I will,” he stuttered, trying to come up with a suitable punishment for scaring his best friend to death, “I will burn all of your marvel collector cards!”

Scott stepped back from Stiles with a shocked expression on his face. “Not the special editions.”

“Especially the special editions.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh but I would. I would even throw in that batman figurine I know you’ve been hiding in the back of your closet this entire time even though you told me you’d lost it years ago.” Stiles threatened him with a stern gaze.

Scott looked so absolutely horrified that Stiles just had to walk over and give his friend another hug. “So don’t you dare try to die on my watch again,” he said, voice muffed by speaking into Scott’s shoulder. “If you’ll do your collector items and cards will suffer the horrid consequences.”

Scott nodded and as they stepped away from each other, one hand playfully slung over each other’s shoulders, Stiles noticed for the first time that sadly Derek wasn’t in the room together with them. Wait, “sadly”? Where had that come from? If nothing he knew that he should be happy Derek wasn’t there to throw him into anymore walls or threaten him again, but he had seen yesterday how Derek was when he’d let down his guard a bit, how he actually had a sense of compassion underneath that stern exterior. He’d seen that there’s more to Derek than what he let it to be, and he was curious to what else Derek Hale might be hiding under that façade of his.

As Scott went to grab his jacket and shirt, Stiles bent down and picked up the black leathered jacket from the floor and put it on him. The jacket was big on him and he probably looked all kinds of weird with it on, but someone had put it over him for him to have, so he didn’t really care how he looked.

Scott stood ready to leave by the door. “You done?” he asked and Scott nodded in return. Stiles picked up his sweatshirt, curled it in his hands and walked out the door with Scott. Outside Dr. Deaton stood waiting, and he walked over to them as he saw them approaching. He smiled at Scott. “It’s good to see you up on your feet.” He then looked at Stiles with a knowing look. “And you too Stiles.”

“Thank you for your help,” Scott said warmly.

“It was no problem. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a room with so many werewolves.” He laughed distantly, as if he remembered an old joke. “They care about you Scott.” He then looked to Stiles again, and gave the leather jacket he wore a particularly weird look, like he just had a small epiphany or something, and said “ _All_ of them.” Emphasis on the “all”.

Scott nodded, thanked him again, and as they walked out from the vets Stiles noticed with a frown that none of the wolves had stayed behind after Scott had healed. He couldn’t help but to wonder if any of them had given him the jacket, or Dr. Deaton, but with the way he had stared at the jacket like it was a sign from above or something, he guessed not.

When they were out in the parking lot Scott sniffed the fresh air, and then he turned to Stiles, scrunching his nose. “Hey dude, why do you smell like Derek?”

“What?”

“I couldn’t tell for sure inside because there were all these smells, but yeah, you definitely smell like Derek.” He scrunched his nose again.

“Yeah well Deaton told you he was there, right? We sat together in a room which only had a tiny window that provided us with fresh air for an entire night, of course I smell a bit like the dude.” Why else would he smell like Derek?

Scott shrugged mindlessly and let it go.

When they got to the car and opened up the doors they immediately stepped back because the morning sun has been shining on the car for a couple of hours and that thing was _hot_. As Stiles took off his jacket and was about to get into the car, a small note fell down from the front pocket of the jacket. He looked at it curiously for a few moments before picking it up and bursting into a cheesy grin at what he saw written there.

 

I was right earlier, he thought fondly. There _is_ a lot more to Derek than what he lets on.


End file.
